


Interlude

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-04
Updated: 2010-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I would never make a lady wait." [Written for the fma_fuh_q Izumi Curtis round]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

Izumi leaned forward, bare breasts to the wall, legs opened as wide as she could manage in her skirt. Olivier moved behind her, the sound of clothes rustling, gloves slung to the side.

"You don't waste any time," Olivier said, lips brushing the edge of Izumi's ear and curving with satisfaction. Her hand gripped Izumi's waist, sliding upward, slow.

"Why waste what I don't have?" Izumi returned, pushed her hips back, ass pressed to Olivier's front. "I'm leaving tomorrow." _Don't make me wait._

A laugh, and the hand resting on her waist squeezed once, twice, and moved further up, fingers a light breeze against her skin until Olivier's palm was on her breast, squeezing harder. Izumi's mouth dropped open, eyelids fluttered.

"I would never make a lady wait," Olivier breathed, her voice a fog wrapping around Izumi. The hand on her breast shifted, Izumi arching toward it as it withdrew, but Olivier was laughing behind her, the fingers quickly returning, stroking the nipple so lightly that Izumi felt herself relax—

—only to let out a shrill moan when those gentle fingers grabbed tight, twisting the sensitive, aroused skin, and Izumi pushed into the pain, head lolling back as heat built in her breasts, in her stomach, creeping down until it was centered in her cunt, warm and wet and perfect.

"When is he expecting you?" Olivier asked, her other hand pushing Izumi's skirt up and stroking the skin of her inner thigh, higher and higher until her knuckles were brushing against the wet, wanting flesh between her legs.

"Morning," Izumi ground out, trying to spread her legs more, wider, trying to feel everything she could as fast as she could. "The train leaves— _fuck_ , ah, at—" Eyelids fluttering, mouth open and panting, Izumi scrambled for control of her tongue, for words. "Five," she gasped out, the hand between her legs suddenly pushing up, clenching, knuckles rubbing relentlessly against the warmth building.

"That's not long," Olivier murmured. "Let's make every second count. I want to hear you scream, Izumi," and Izumi heard the darkness, heard the heat laced in Olivier's words, knew she would scream, beg, cum more times than she believed possible before she limped to the train station in the morning.

"Harder," Izumi demanded, hips undulating, rolling and pushing and trying to guide that hand to bring her that much closer. Movement stopped, and Izumi groaned, a long, piteous sound, heard her own voice begging, a shrill whine: _don't leave me like this._

Olivier chuckled, slipped one finger beneath the moist, thin fabric covering Izumi, slid it through the damp, coarse curls, resting over her slit, the barely there pressure enough to drive Izumi mad. "You're dripping," Olivier said accusingly, shoved that finger up to the knuckle and crooked it, twisting. "Is this all it takes? I brush up against you, play with your tits, and you're this wet? No self control," Olivier said, lips pressing into the back of Izumi's throat, teeth grazing the bronzed skin. "What a sad little girl you are."

And it didn't matter that they were the same age, were _equals_ , because all Olivier had to do was lower her voice, brush her hand against Izumi's back, and Izumi was ready to drop to her knees, to bare her neck and beg to be fucked. She should be ashamed of herself. Instead, she ground down on the hand between her legs, cupped her own shaking hand over the long, slender fingers so cruelly teasing her breast, and sang her pleasure with every passing second, with every harsh touch, every word spoken in that lust-heavy murmur.

"More," Izumi said, tried her damnedest not to make it a command. Olivier stopped moving completely, pulled out the digit buried inside Izumi and stepped back, pulling her around until her back hit the wall, her chest heaving with shuddering breath. "What…?"

Olivier, in full uniform still, boots shining and every badge on her military coat gleaming, arched a thin brow and reached forward, wiped the slick, sticky finger on Izumi's bare shoulder. "The bed," Olivier said, watching her thoughtfully. "Move." The order was surprisingly gentle, and Izumi moved without question, adapted to their game. She knew how to play just as well as the Major General.

Izumi jerked her skirt and underwear off, crawling onto the bed and dropping on her ass. She scooted backwards, the hotel room pillows thin enough that she could feel every groove in the headboard when her back was flush to it. Olivier was still watching her, face cast in a reddish hue from the faint lamplight. She turned on her heel, abruptly grabbing for something on the chest of drawers on the opposite side of the room and bringing it over to drop on the bedside table.

"Keep your eyes on this," Olivier said, hand still on top of the small alarm clock. The hands pointed to a quarter past one, and Izumi nodded, trained her eyes to the arms creeping slowly across the face.

It would have been much easier to _keep_ her focus on the clock had Olivier not chosen that exact moment to raise one knee, standing with perfect balance on one foot as she unlaced her boot, kicked it off and gave the same care to the opposite foot. Izumi's eyes twitched, tried to drag over to Olivier, to watch her slip out of her coat, tug her undershirt from her trousers and toss it over to the corner. When her hands went to her belt, Izumi gave in and tore her gaze from the clock—

Olivier gave her a single, sharp look, and Izumi slowly focused back on the unmoving hands on the clock's face, listened to the sound of Olivier drawing her zip down. Crossing her legs, thighs squeezed tight together, Izumi breathed carefully, in out in, and counted along with the second hand.

"It's no wonder that boy of yours can't sit still," Olivier said. "You haven't got even an ounce of patience more than that brat."

"He makes his own choices," was Izumi's snappish response, and Olivier gave a harsh, barking laugh.

"I can't disagree with you on that point," Olivier said, crawling onto the bed. "Legs open. Eyes on the clock." She fell over Izumi, bare body cradled between her hastily spread legs, and grabbed her chin, mouth pressing briefly against the sharp cut of her jaw. "Sig wouldn't like it if you were late."

"Sig's a very understanding man," Izumi bit out, hands flexing on Olivier's shoulder. "He's put up with me for years."

Olivier didn't bother answering, didn't need to. Instead, she slipped a hand between Izumi's legs, fingers rubbing in a wet slide against the sensitive flesh, watching Izumi's eyes droop and her mouth fall open with an amused quirk of the lips. "You're not so difficult," she said then, rubbing harder. "So long as you've got something between your legs, you're plenty happy."

Izumi came quickly, head cracking back against the headboard, knees drawing up, hips jerking in short, sporadic movements. Olivier kept rubbing, stroking every last tremor out of her until she was sopping wet, legs twitching. Olivier hovered over her, crawled up her body until she sat high on her knees, staring haughtily down at Izumi. Reaching up, Izumi cupped a hand over Olivier's chest, her palm not quite big enough to cover the perky mound.

"And what can I do for you?" Izumi asked, scooting up until she was off her back, sitting up between Olivier's legs. The other woman didn't need to ask for anything, just cocked her hips forward and pushed at the back of Izumi's head, hand buried in her hair as she guided her just where she wanted her. Hands braced on Olivier's hips, Izumi glanced at the clock, noted the time: half past one.

Face pressed into the v of Olivier's legs, Izumi grinned, slid her tongue into the wet slit and listened to Olivier's sharp breathing, punctuated by the hand tightening in her hair.

There was no reason to rush. They had all night.


End file.
